


the case of the missing welcome mat

by OnyxSphynx



Series: newmann one-shots [40]
Category: Pacific Rim (Movies)
Genre: M/M, kind of goth!hermann
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-05
Updated: 2019-04-05
Packaged: 2020-01-05 09:12:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18362981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OnyxSphynx/pseuds/OnyxSphynx
Summary: the culprit isn't who Newt expected.





	the case of the missing welcome mat

**Author's Note:**

> anon asked: "Could you please write "You keep stealing my doormat and HAH, I’ve got you this time thief!""

The problem is.

Well.

See, the problem is. Newt’s doormat is nice. It’s one of those cool ones that’s white and then turns blood red where it gets wet, and, well, he likes it, okay? He likes it a lot, actually.

So.

So, so.

Well, someone’s stealing it. Obviously. Because it was there just this morning, but when he got back, it wasn’t. He glares at the empty space in front of his door where it usually lays, and decides, fuck it, he can’t deal with this right now, and storms inside the fly, slams the door behind him.

He grades papers with his earbuds jammed in, an 8D audio of something loud vibrating in his skull. Then, through the din, he hears someone pounding on the door. With a huff, he drags himself up to go see who it is.

“What,” he snaps, before the door is open. And then kind of regrets snapping, because the dude is really, unfairly pretty, pale skin contrasting sharply with his jet-black jacket, vest, and cane. Oh well, too late to turn back now. “I’m trying to grade papers.”

The other man sniffs. “Well, would it kill you to turn down you music?” he questions, glaring slightly. “Because it is very disruptive.”

“It just might,” Newt says, darkly, and slams the door shut.

Utter asshat. He had his earbuds in—

—but not, apparently, plugged in.

Oh.

Whoops.

So he plugs them in—properly—and finishes grading the papers, all thoughts of goth-dude gone from his mind.

The next morning, his doormat is back, placed just as it was before, as if it’s been there the whole night. Newt scowls at it, furious. “Seriously?” he says, kicking at it. “What the fuck.”

The door across from his opens, and goth-dude appears, glare affixed firmly on Newt. “Language,” he snaps, and disappears back into his own flat, leaving Newt—

—well, leaving him something, that’s for sure.

The doormat stays, as it should, in front of his door, for the rest of the month, and part of the next. But halfway through February, it’s gone again. It’s also about then that Newt learns goth-dude a.) has both a septum and ear piercing and b.) works at the same college as Newt does, as an applied physics professor.

Which, actually, would explain why they never crossed paths.

“Newton Geiszler, PhD!” he yells after another argument in the hallway. “Can I get a name?”

He’s met with the resounding sound of the other’s door slamming shut.

The doormat turns up the very next morning, and Newt resolves to catch the thief, because, first off, who the fuck steals a doormat, and secondly,fuck whoever it is, they’re stealing his doormat.

Except the moment he sets up any kind of trap, mystery doormat-thief…manages to get past it. Every. Single. Goddamn. One. What the hell.

“What the hell,” he says, staring at the empty square in front of his door, then glares at the—now disabled—trap, and says, again, more emphatically, “what the hell.”

So, apparently, this is a thing, then. Because Newt can’t catch this person, and the person isn’t…well, isn’t really stealing, technically, just borrowing, his doormat, he—well, he doesn’t give up. They’re just getting better at evading his traps.

So when he walks in on goth-dude, crouching in front of his door, cane laying carefully on the floor by his side fter coming in from a midnight walk, well—he does a double-take. “You,” he says, agaog, then, again, “you! It was you!”

“Er,” says goth-dude-slash-doormat-thief, “you’ll have to specify.”

“You’ve been stealing my doormat!” Newt accuses, and the other lets out a huff.

“I’ve been washing it,” he corrects, “you let it get absolutely filthy, Newt.”

Newt sputters. “What—who the hell washes others’ doormats?” he demands, “and also, how do you know my name?”

Goth-dude blinks at him. “Wait a minute,” he says, “do you—do you truly not know?”

“Know what,” Newt snaps.

Goth-dude has the gall to begin laughing. “Oh dear,” he chokes out, “I cannot—I simply cannot believe—Newton. Newton, I’m Hermann. Hermann Gottlieb.”

Newt stares at him, flabbergasted. “What—dude—you—?” he sputters, “but—”

“I had thought you’d have figured it out by now,” Hermann—Hermann—says, amusement leaking into his tone, “given the various hints I dropped via email and text.”

“Then why didn’t you say anything when you realized I was living next-door?” Newt demands hotly, and Hermann’s gaze slips to the floor.

“I was…shy,” he admits, like it pains him. “I—well, I didn’t want to finally meet you, and for it to turn out a horrible disaster, and, well, you’re significantly more good-looking than I had anticipated.”

“Oh,” Newt says, unable to say much else. And then, “Do you wanna come inside and eat some ice cream? As, like, a practice-date?” he blurts, “just to, like, practice for the actual thing?”

Hermann’s gaze snaps to his, and a grin splits his face. “Just so you know know, though,” he warns, “I’m not going to stop stealing your doormat.”

Newt laughs. “And I wouldn’t expect you to.”


End file.
